Every weekend I do nothing but listen to audiobooks. Where's that ambition to write? Gone gone gone. Dead and gone. I find my comfort in stories of other people's lives. Or in series of fantastical people, Eve Dallas, Sookie Stackhouse. Love stories lay me out and fill me with longing. And then I find it hard to get into another story. I listened to Sookie over and over. Her new book doesn't come out until May.
Meanwhile I have no longings for myself any more. Just to have a job and be able to continue taking care of myself.
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